Chapter 8 #2
"Marriage is currency in our world, Dmitri. Always has been. The girl comes with her family's power. Their resources. Their name tied to ours permanently." Papa's eyes never leave my face. "If you want her, stop playing games. Make the offer. Secure the alliance."
"And if she refuses?"
His laugh dissolves into a wet cough. When he recovers, there's blood on his lips. He wipes it away without acknowledgment.
"Since when does a Baganov accept refusal?" He gestures weakly toward the door. "Go. Talk to Pietro Sartori. Make your intentions clear. Before someone else does."
I stand, straightening my jacket. "Papa—"
"I want to see you married before I die." The words hit like bullets. Direct. Unflinching. "I want to know our legacy is secured. That everything I built won't crumble because my heir was too stubborn to claim what he wants."
I nod once. There's nothing else to say.
At the door, his voice stops me.
"Dmitri." I turn. He looks smaller against those massive pillows. "She's worth fighting for. But only if you're willing to fight dirty."
I am.
I always have been.
The elevator climbs to the thirty-fifth floor. My reflection stares back from the polished doors. Controlled expression, not a single crack in the mask. This is how a pakhan presents himself. Calm. Measured. Strategic.
Inside, I'm anything but.
Pietro's secretary announces my arrival through the intercom. The double doors to his office swing open, and I step into the lion's den.
Pietro Sartori sits behind a massive desk, dark wood and polished steel. The windows behind him frame the city. His brother Nico leans against the wall to my left, arms crossed, watching me.
"Baganov." Pietro gestures to the chair across from him. "You insisted this couldn't wait."
"It couldn't." I settle into the leather seat, letting the silence stretch for exactly three seconds. Long enough to establish I'm not nervous. Short enough to show respect. "Word has reached me that your family is arranging a marriage for your sister."
Nico pushes off the wall. "And why exactly are you bringing this here?"
His tone carries an edge. Suspicion wrapped in challenge. The third Sartori brother—the one who watches, calculates, trusts no one. I've done my research. Nico runs numbers and construction, but his real value lies in that brain. He sees threats before they materialize.
Right now, he sees me as one.
I don't rise to the bait. At home, in my own territory, I might let my irritation show. Here, surrounded by men who would happily put a bullet in my skull if I threatened their princess? I keep my voice level. Pleasant, even.
"I'm bringing this here because my family is open to a marriage between our houses." I let the words land, watching both brothers process them. "The Baganov Bratva would consider an alliance through marriage to be mutually beneficial."
Nico's jaw tightens. "You're Russian. We're Italian. That's not how things work."
"Tradition." I smile, and it's not a kind expression. "Tell me, Nico, which Italian families in Chicago would you trust with your sister?"
We all know the answer. The Corellis tried to destroy them months ago. The other Italian families are either too weak to matter or too treacherous to trust. Snakes, every last one of them.
Nico's mouth closes. His fingers tap against his bicep—once, twice—then stop.
I turn to Pietro.
The Don studies me.
"You're serious about this," Pietro says. Not a question.
"I don't waste time on things I'm not serious about."
"My sister isn't a business transaction."
"I never said she was."
Pietro's eyes narrow. "Then what exactly are you saying, Baganov?"
I lean forward slightly. Just enough to show I'm engaged, not enough to appear aggressive. "I'm saying that your family needs allies you can trust. The Baganov Bratva has proven ourselves reliable partners. Our interests align. Our enemies overlap."
"You've met Vittoria exactly twice in formal settings."
Three times, I don't say. And the second time, I had my tongue in her mouth.
"Twice is sufficient to recognize value.
" I keep my voice flat. Businesslike. "The Baganov Bratva has resources your family needs.
Distribution networks across the Midwest. Political connections your Italian counterparts can't match.
And unlike the families who've betrayed you before, we have no history of deception with the Sartoris. "
Pietro exchanges a glance with Nico. Something passes between them. A silent conversation I'm not part of.
I hate it.
But I sit still. Patient. This is a negotiation, not a conquest. I came alone. No Igor at my back, no guards waiting downstairs. A calculated risk. If they wanted me dead, I'd already have a bullet in my skull. The fact that I'm still breathing means they're at least willing to listen.
"You're talking about this like it's a merger." Nico pushes off the wall and walks closer. "Stocks and assets. Supply chains."
"Because that's what it is."
"Don't bullshit me."
My jaw tightens. Just barely. I force it to relax.
"I'm discussing an alliance," I say. "One that benefits both our families. Your sister's technical expertise combined with our infrastructure would create something neither family could achieve alone."
I don't give a damn about infrastructure. I want her. The woman who looked at me and walked away like I was nothing.
No one walks away from me.
No one except her.
And that's precisely why I can't stop thinking about her. Every other woman sees the power, the money, the danger. They fall at my feet or run screaming. Vittoria Sartori did neither. She kissed me like she meant it, then left me standing alone in my own club.
Maddening.
But if these men saw even a flicker of that obsession, they'd put me in the ground before sunset. So I keep my face blank. My voice steady.
"We've already begun discussions with another family," Pietro says.
Red.
Everything goes red for half a second.
My fingers curl against my thighs, hidden beneath the desk's edge. Blood roars in my ears. Another family. Someone else thinks they can have her. Someone else is sitting in meetings, making offers, planning to put their ring on her finger and their hands on her body—
Control.
I force my spine straight. Breathe through my nose. When I speak, my voice comes out perfectly calm.
"Which family?"
Nico laughs. Sharp and humorless. "You claim this is just business, Baganov. Pure strategy. So why do you care who the other bidder is?"
Because I'll destroy them. Whoever they are. I'll burn their entire operation to ash and scatter the remains across Lake Michigan.
"Due diligence." I meet his gaze without flinching. "If you're considering an alliance with a family that has weaknesses, it affects the stability of any future partnership between us. I prefer to know what I'm competing against."
"Competing." Pietro's mouth curves. Not quite a smile. "Interesting word choice."
"Accurate word choice."
The room falls silent. Outside the windows, Chicago sprawls beneath us. Millions of people going about their lives, completely unaware that three men in an office are discussing the fate of empires.
I lean forward. Plant my forearms on my knees. Let them see I'm serious.
"The Baganov Bratva has been a reliable partner to your family until now. We've honored every agreement. Delivered on every promise. Whoever else is making offers, ask yourself if they can say the same."
Pietro's expression gives nothing away. He's good, this one. Better than I expected when he first took over from his brother. The weight of leadership has sharpened him.
"The future of our alliance depends on how you handle this," I continue. "Play it right, and both our families grow stronger. Play it wrong..." I let the silence finish the sentence.
Nico's fingers tap against his arm again.
Pietro stands. The meeting is ending.
"We'll discuss your proposal," he says. "You'll be informed of our decision."
Not a yes. Not a no. A maybe that could stretch for weeks while another family gets closer to claiming what's mine.
I rise from the chair. Extend my hand.
Pietro shakes it. Firm grip, direct eye contact. Respect between predators.
"Don't take too long," I say. "Opportunities like this don't wait forever."
I walk out of that office with my spine straight and my face blank. The elevator doors close behind me, and only then do I let my mask slip.
Whoever you are, I think, whoever thinks they can take her from me. You have no idea what's coming.